


Self Examination

by BloodyyBoxes



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Animal Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), mercenary work is discussed, this is just for my oc bc good writing practice without worry of ooc because i made him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-29 01:20:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30148554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyyBoxes/pseuds/BloodyyBoxes
Summary: Sunny considers his life up until this point. Even good memories can turn bitter when spoiled with the knowledge of your present.
Kudos: 7





	Self Examination

When Sunny was eight, long before anyone knew him as Sunny, he worked on his Mother’s farm. Not as an employee of course, but the way all farm kids end up doing their part of the work to keep things running. He didn’t mind much, honestly. It was the least he could do for his Mother, with all the hard work she put into raising him and running the farm. She never talked much about Sunny’s father, but he always got the distinct impression that it was perhaps for the best he was gone.

When Sunny was ten, he broke a bone for the first time. He was on a ladder in the shed, trying to reach farm tools his Mother never let him use so he could do the work for her. She was sick that day, and had slept in. Sunny had just grabbed the handle of a sharp instrument- the name was lost on him- when he leaned a bit too far and came tumbling down. It took him a bit before he was willing to go to his Mother about the pain, and when he did, she freaked out seeing him with a gash by his neck and a swelling, very broken arm. He was more careful next time, but it did not stop him. Nothing ever did.

When Sunny was fifteen, he found an old rifle in the attic and began to practice with it. He had asked his neighbor, a frequent hunter, to help him and he was quick to pick it up. The first living thing he shot with it was a dingo that had been getting at their chickens for the past few weeks. He messed up the shot and only grazed its neck, leaving it running off in a panic with blood trailing behind it. Sunny didn’t tell his Mother about the gun, but several weeks later he shot the wild dog again and this time, killed it. He didn’t tell his Mother that, either.

When Sunny was eighteen, he went to a college in America for a subject he’s long since forgotten, since a month after his nineteenth birthday he dropped out. He soon got himself a job as a park ranger- with the help of shoddy hiring practices and a cheaply forged citizenship for the U.S. If Sunny wasn’t so young and dumb, perhaps he would have realized that them hiring him at all was a red flag. But he was young, and dumb, and a bit too cocky for his own good.

When Sunny was twenty, he got the call to help with a search and rescue. A girl, a pretty young one at that, but he can’t remember much more of the details he was given at the time anymore. There was far too much space to search and far too little people, so Sunny offered to search a large space far away from where everyone else was and work his way back. Idiot. What an idiot he was. To be alone in the woods, at night, with no one around to help for miles. He wasn’t alone though. Unlucky him, he wasn’t alone.

The girl was found largely unharmed, just spooked and roughed up from a nasty fall if Sunny recalled correctly. He was not so fortunate. A bullet hole above his collar bone, arms broken into bloodied, tangled messes, head pounding from being hit hard against a rock. Gangrene. His arms were shattered into pieces, and gangrene had begun to set in. To no surprise, they had to be amputated. Both of them. Sunny did not take it well.

By the time Sunny was twenty-one, he had largely adjusted to the prosthetics his was given. Looking back, they were shitty pieces of scrap that broke every other month, but he worked around them. In the absence of work to do, and as an outlet for the many, many thoughts and feelings that had begun to well up inside him, Sunny picked up a rifle and got back to his hobby of shooting. It was hard. Very, very hard. But he took comfort in having a goal to work towards, even one as small and as vague as ‘improve’.

It was when Sunny was out at a bar, celebrating- _if you could call it that_ \- his twenty-second birthday that he was approached by a man he used to work with. They talked for a bit, caught up on things, and the man gave him an offer. A very simple offer: _Kill a man for me, and I’ll give you a bigger paycheck than you’ve ever seen in your life._

Perhaps emboldened by the alcohol, perhaps still in an emotion driven haze after he heard of his Mother’s death several months prior, or perhaps just simply angry and wanting to hurt whoever he could justify, Sunny agreed. And agreed. And agreed.

His Mother wouldn’t be happy to see where he was now. His Mother would be horrified and heartbroken to know what Sunny made of his life. Maybe it was best for them both she had died before she could watch him spiral. He didn’t regret what he did. He doesn’t regret what he does. It pays well, it’s easy, and his current position at RED even gives him weekends off. No, no, he didn’t regret his mercenary career one bit. He just hoped that, wherever his Mother was now, she wasn’t watching.

Sunny didn’t have time to linger on that last thought though, as a low whine snapped him from his thoughts. A glance to his side revealed one of his two service dogs, Cupcake, had brought a pill bottle over to him that she was holding gently in her mouth.

“Thanks girl,” he took the pill bottle and patted her head (for his comfort more than hers if he was being honest with himself), “almost forgot.”

Mindlessly opening the bottle and taking a pill with coffee that had long gone cold, he allowed himself a moment to stare outside as the sun began to paint the sky with new color before pulling himself from his seat and getting dressed. He had men to kill, and unlike that child who lived alone with their mother and could barely keep their hands steady as they lined up the gun with a wild dog twenty-four years ago, he would not miss.


End file.
